


If you say yes

by Elijah_Dentwood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dry Humping, M/M, Sex in the Impala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:45:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elijah_Dentwood/pseuds/Elijah_Dentwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filled prompt from the SPN kink meme.<br/>Sam has said yes to Lucifer. Dean is in a bad way and has a dream that makes him see Michael differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you say yes

Dean's limbs are heavy – he shifts back and forth on the mattress slowly, his thoughts shifting in his mind sluggishly. It's been two nights since he slept, since he moved to do anything other than take a piss. 

Only Cas manages to prize the odd grunt out of him. He tempts Dean with food that turns his stomach; sweet ripe cherry pie and cheese burgers covered in relish. He can't tell if he's starving or disgusted. It all goes cold and tacky with sugar or grease, eventually Cas tosses it all into the trash outside. 

'He's gotta sleep Cas.' Bobby's voice. It sounds distant, tinny. Dean shifts out his arm on the bed and accidentally touches his leg. He tilts up his head and sees that Cas is on the phone. He glances back down at Dean, eyes darkened with concern. 

He doesn't hear Bobby's next sentiment, but Cas says a deadpan goodbye. 

Dean's mind is saving him, shoving him back deep somewhere that he doesn't have to remember. It hums it's approval as Cas slides a tumblr into his hand, three fingers of Jack and something fizzing slightly in the bottom. He doesn't know if Cas has been gone, or if he had this shit all along. 

'Been holdin' out on me.' His throat is dry and rough. He licks his lips as Cas tries to lift up his head and encourage him to drink. A stab of pride makes him lift his own head and bring the glass to his mouth. 

'That's it, all of it.' There's something about Cas' encouragement that makes him splutter on the Jack as he swallows. 

Cas doesn't smile as Dean drifts off to sleep. Things won't be different when he wakes – Sam will still have said yes and Lucifer will still be stalking the Earth. 

*

Dean bolts awake on the third knock to the window. Sunlight floods his eyes. Someone's knocking their fist against the glass and they aren't stopping. 

'Shit,' Dean breathes. He runs a hand through his hair and rolls down the window. 'Yeah?' 

'Hello Dean.'  
Dean's foot twitches towards the gas pedal. Dad. Or Michael. Or Dad. Young Dad. 'Engine's not working, sorry Dean. That's why we've pulled over.' 

'Right, and I suppose you're gonna tell me I've gone all Dr Who again...' 

Dad or the dad-imposter smiles. 

'Are you really my dad, or-' 

'Get out of the car, we'll talk.' 

'Tell me who the fuck you are, or we're not talking about anything.' 

'You're not armed,' the other man says patiently, 'and I'm not your dad, I'm Michael. I'm just borrowing your dad again.' 

Michael is wrong about him being armed. Dean can feel the weight of a blade tucked into his sock. He swings open the car door and forces Michael to step back. 

It's only once his feet hit the ground that Dean realizes he's dreaming. Cas drugged him – if he was awake right now, he wouldn't be standing up, and he sure as shit wouldn't be in the middle of no where without Cas. 

'So what, we gonna save the day dream-style?' Dean asks, glancing around to try and figure out where they are. It looks like nowhere and everywhere. Sky, trees, road, gravel under-foot. 

'I know Sam said yes,' Michael says. He doesn't even sound like dad, not yet. Dean's not sure he really looks like him either – too clean, too fresh. He's not haunted by anything yet. A spike of pain strikes through Dean. He should never have let Sammy go. Should have stopped him. Should have...

'Stop.' Michael is staring at him. Seems like the angel can hear everything in his head. Dean fixes his jaw and thinks of every disgusting name he ever knew to scream in his head. _Get the hint, wing-boy._

'I didn't...I don't want to cause you any pain. That's not why we're talking here.' The thick rot that has been eating away at Dean disagrees. His loss, his failure is something material and it's picking away at his sanity. He balances back against the Impala because his legs aren't a sure thing, and there's no way he's falling down in front of this asshole. 

Dean closes his eyes briefly against the sun and when they open Michael has shifted forward soundlessly. 'I'm the only other being who understands how you feel, Dean. Knowing your brother is lost but still out there. Knowing your own father wants him dead, struggling to...even comprehend doing that, even if the world will end. You already chose, didn't you? You picked Sam over your promise to your dad, you picked Sam over the fate of everyone.' 

Dean's rooted to the spot. 'Remember how I told you I raised Lucifer? It cuts deep doesn't it. Do you wonder if you helped make your baby brother a monster? Maybe you could have done more; stepped in between him and father, made him stay, made him change his mind. But you didn't, and all that's left is pain and the final thing you can do for Sam.' 

Dean breathes in deep. Even in his dreams he can't escape this. He closes his eyes against the sun again. He can feel Michael close the distance between them without opening his eyes. A hand slides behind his neck, the other down by his waist. 'I'm offering you peace,' the words seem to be in his head, though he can feel Michael's lips move against his cheek. 'You, and then Sam. Let me show you.' 

He keeps still because the angel could be about to do anything. Dean is beyond making choices – his brain has slowed and calmed, he's not keen to send his thoughts rushing after a decision. 

'If you want me to show you, you have to say yes.' 

'Yes.' The word is barely formed before Michael's mouth is pressed against his. Michael tastes of something cool and summery, something that makes Dean think of long warm nights and open fields. Michael's hands are holding him still, fingertips pressed into his cheek bones and each thumb hooked under his jaw. 

It's a nice kiss, but it isn't peace. It's hardly the promised land. The fingertips press tighter and there's a sensation welling inside of him that makes him open his eyes. It's warming, but flooding. He gasps against Michael's kiss because whatever filling him is going to force out his breath, soon he won't be able to breath at all. 

The world slips away and when he comes back to it, it is entirely changed. He no longer commands his body. He watches, he _feels_ , but if he chooses it all floats away. He's enveloped in the safety of Michael's mind, wrapped within his own body. 

_Dean._

He knows that Michael loves him, in a way that he's never known anything before. There is so much truth contained in his new home. He carefully sifts through Michael's own held memories, beliefs, his own love and failure. He finds the dramatic chronicles of his time fighting Lucifer, and the crippling quiet moments of personal agony over his brother's repeated betrayal.

As Michael draws away something drains from Dean. He isn't sure he knows how to feel whole again. The destiny stuff, the stuff every dick angel had wanted to tell him, there was something to be said for it. Michael draws away and as Dean reclaims the feeling in his arms he reaches for him. 

Michael's mouth finds his again.

 _He'll be destroyed..._ It's bursts of Michael's thoughts that seep through now. As broken as his own, but with a twisted, well practiced edge. He has known this time would come for more time than Dean can imagine. 

Michael will never have Lucifer back. Maybe he can save Sam's soul, but the most he could even hope for is to put Lucifer back in the cage, but his orders are kill not capture. Lucifer will never come home to heaven. 

Somehow their thoughts seep away and now there's just sensation left. Michael must have been in charge of his body longer than he thought – the sun is dipping behind the Impala. 

Dean opens the door and pulls Michael in alongside him. 

His kisses might be practiced, but nothing else is. Michael's hands are rough. He tugs at Dean's clothes and grips too hard at his wrists. He's climbing across onto Dean, arms and legs everywhere. He finds his rhythm and grips Dean's hair, pulls at it so that he can have free access to his throat. 

He can feel Michael's erection pressing into his stomach. Dean shifts him, ignoring the bruises his sustaining on the way until his own hard cock his pushed against the angel's. As soon as the friction takes Michael is relentless. Dean bumps his head against the side of the car, winces as Michael grips on him too hard. Michael is breathless and making small noises of pleasure and desperation that belie his status as God's Warrior. 

Michael comes first, collapsing on Dean after the final twinge of pleasure. After a moment he slides down, nuzzling at the crotch of Dean's jeans. It's enough to tip him over, and Dean gasps out his own orgasm, one arm stretched out to twist at Michael's previously neat hair. 

* 

Dean wakes up mumbling into his pillow. He licks his lips and lifts his head. 

Across the motel room the door flies open and hits into the wall. Castiel looks angry enough that Dean pulls up his legs, ready to attempt to defend himself. 

'Where were you?' Cas demands, leaning across the bed to grab Dean's shoulder. 

'What? Nowhere! Here. What the fuck, Cas?' 

The shift of his legs lets Dean feel the sticky-wetness soaked through his underwear and onto his jeans. He doesn't need to look down at the dark spot there because Cas has already pulled him off the bed and onto his feet, he's already starting at his groin.

He doesn't have the energy to offer a grin, or an explanation. He just watches Cas' eyes as he draws his own conclusion. His expression never gives away much, and he lets Dean drop back down onto the bed. 

'You weren't here. I went out to get more ice and you were gone when I came back. Where did you go?' 

'Nowhere! I was asleep. You fucking drugged me.' 

'That was hours ago, Dean. You've been gone hours.' 

It wasn't a dream. Dean moves his fingers over the sore spots on his neck, the finger-shaped bruises forming on his wrists. 

'It's gonna be fine, Cas.' Dean says, 'I'm gonna say yes.'


End file.
